Raoul Sees Christine's Sweet Side
by megand220
Summary: Erik and Christine have a dinner date on the roof. It doesn't quite go as planned.


"Does the red one or the blue one look better, Meg?"

"The blue one. Definitely."

I clicked my tongue impatiently, scrounging my wardrobe for more options.

"Or perhaps this one? Although it might have a spot on the back here…oh, yes, that's _right_, it does. I wonder if it'll come out?"

I licked my thumb and rubbed furiously at the little black stain that tarnished an otherwise pristine dress. Meg grabbed my wrist, shaking her head.

"Christine, honestly, stop worrying so much! The blue one looks lovely on you!"

"Oh, you really think so?"

"You look lovely in anything," she said wistfully. "Really, you do."

I smiled graciously.

"Thank you, Meg. Really. Just look at me," I sighed, looking at the mess of clothing that was strewn across the floor. I plopped down at my desk, laughing. "I'm such a nervous wreck!"

"Yes, you are," Meg agreed. "But that's all right. It's understandable!"

I nodded, staring into my mirror. In just half an hour - oh, gosh. Could it really be so soon? My stomach flipped nervously at the thought.

"I need to get ready!" I squeaked, digging the chosen blue dress out from under a pile of rejects. "I'll need to leave soon!"

It was a beautiful Friday evening, late in April. The weather had been perfect all day, just the right amount of sunshine to warm the air and dry the soggy grounds that had been getting drenched, for days on end, with constant rain showers. It was just around five o'clock now, the sky a hazy canvas of pastel watercolors.

And in half an hour, I would be on the rooftop, looking out at this picturesque scene, having dinner with my Angel of Music.

"Oh," I groaned as Meg helped me button up the dress, "I don't even get this nervous before performances!"

"But Christine," Meg laughed, finishing the last button, "It's only Raoul! Surely you can't be _that_ nervous? You two have had dinner before! Unless…" Her eyes widened to the size of tea cup saucers. "_Christine Daae!" _she gasped. "You don't think…you don't think he's going to…well, he won't _pop the question?_" She said this is a rush of breathless excitement.

I whipped around to face her, shaking my head furiously, horrified how quickly she'd made that jump. Although, I suppose she didn't know any better. After all, I couldn't exactly _tell_ her that I wasn't having dinner with Raoul. That would mean letting her in on the fact that I _knew_ the Phantom of the Opera. Let alone that I went on dinner dates with him! And what breed of gossiping monster would I unleash if I gave her that information? Meg was quite the talker. The entire ballet corps would find out, without a shred of doubt…and then the managers…and soon La Carlotta and Raoul and -

"Well, what, then?" she pressed impatiently, snapping me out of my thoughts. "If he's not going to propose, why are you making such a fuss?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, clumsily knocking over a bottle of perfume. I felt my face getting hot. "I mean, I'm not very good at, well, this whole 'dinner date' affair…"

She scoffed.

"I'm sure you'll be fine! You've held yourself together before!" she cried. "Now, let's see! Turn around!" She grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Hey eyes carefully ran up and down my figure, her arms folded at her chest as she examined me.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know how to put this, Christine, but suffice it to say: you are _gorgeous_. He won't be able to take his _eyes _off of you!"

That thought, though, didn't help to settle my churning stomach. I attempted a nervous giggle.

"Perfect," I said weakly.

"Where is he meeting you again?"

"Oh," I said, flushing scarlet, "No, no, I'm meeting _him_, er, outside. On the stairs."

"Well, what time will he be here? Shall I wait with you-?"

"No!" I said, too quickly. She raised an eyebrow. "I mean, that's all right," I amended quickly, "I'll be fine on my own."

"If you say so," she said, oblivious to my internal panic attack. "Here, I'll do your hair. Up or down?"

"Whichever!" I said, relaxing as her fingers started to run through my curly locks. I closed my eyes and tried very hard to chase the butterflies in my stomach away. It was no use - I was being so silly! I'd eaten with Erik before, of course, but never like this. Never on a…on a date.

_A date! _my mind squealed. _With Erik!_

The thought was ludicrous. Not because I didn't _want_ to dine with him; no, that wasn't it at all! It was just…just trying to picture Erik and I, sitting down to eat, having a normal, frivolous conversation about ourselves. Laughing together, getting to _know_ each other, alone on the rooftop. It was maddening to try and imagine. I couldn't get a mental image of Erik - his tall, mysterious figure - on a _date._

And, then, what would happen at the end of the night? Perhaps…_did I dare even think it_? But perhaps, before I returned to my room, he'd even give me a ki-

_No!_ I commanded myself, opening my eyes. My face was hot and flushed again. Thankfully, Meg seemed blissfully unaware; she was busy intricately weaving my hair into two narrow braids that met in the middle of my head and hung down my back. Meanwhile, I was sweating, my nerves raging full-force now. I snuck a peek at the little glass clock on my desk. Could I really only have twenty minutes left?

"And, done!" Meg announced, dropping her hands to her sides. "And might I say, you have the finest hair in all of France tonight!"

I grinned, turning to the side to admire her handiwork in the mirror. She'd done a spectacular job; all of her practice with the ballet girls' hair had really paid off, it seemed.

"Oh, Meg, thank you!" I said, hopping up. "It looks wonderful!"

"_You_ look wonderful, Christine!" she said, beaming. She gave me a quick hug. "What time is it?" She looked at the time and gasped. "Shouldn't you get going? Don't want to be late! The earlier the better!"

I nodded numbly, trying to remember how to work my legs.

"Yes, I'll go now," I said in a voice three octaves higher than usual. Meg clapped her hands in excitement.

"Oh, have a splendid time, Christine! You _must_ tell me all about it!"

"Of course. Tomorrow."

"Right." I didn't move. She waited a minute before rolling her eyes and crying, "Well, go on, then!" She laughed as she shoved me through the door.

I blinked in the hallway. _Right. Okay. The roof._ Meg followed me out. "Well, go on!" she said. "And good luck!" She blew me a kiss as she ran off in the opposite direction, yelling another "Go, Christine!" when she reached the end of the hall before I'd even moved. I obeyed, walking automatically, as if in a trance, toward the stairs that would lead me all the way up to the top of the building.

It was, of course, deserted when I pulled open the door and stepped into the sunlight. People rarely came up here, especially around suppertime. I still had a few minutes to kill, so I walked over to the ledge, looking out at the breathtaking view, letting the sun kiss my cheeks with its warmth. I felt like singing, oddly enough. To ease my nerves. But right when I drew a breath to start, I heard:

"Christine, my dear?"

I whipped around, startled, feeling color rise up to my face again.

"Erik!"

He walked over to me, looking apologetic.

"Did I startle you? I'm so sorry."

"Not too badly," I said, smiling. I felt, somehow, calmer now that he was actually here. I exhaled, letting the nerves leave my body with my expired air. "I was just admiring the view. It just makes me want to sing. Isn't it so lovely?" I swept a hand out toward the horizon.

"It is indeed," he agreed. He came up right beside me, looking out toward where I'd indicated. It struck me, just then, as it did every so often, how very_ tall_ he was - he towered about a foot over me. He was swathed in his usual black attire, a cape fluttering out behind him in the soft breeze. The white mask that covered his face shined brightly in the sun's rays.

"But you look lovely, as well, my dear," he said, looking down at me.

I dropped my eyes to my feet, grinning sheepishly.

"Thank you," I said quietly. I met his gaze again. "You look very dapper yourself." And he did. He looked different today. It must have been the change of scenery - his usual dark, mysterious air seemed less intimidating out here in the light.

"Well, thank you, though I hardly dare to believe that's true," he said. I opened my mouth to retaliate, but before I could, he said, "You must be hungry, Christine. If you'd care to follow me…?" I stared at him for a minute more, my brow furrowed. He always found a way to degrade himself, whenever possible. It was usually futile to attempt to make him change his mind, though I usually stepped up to the challenge. I didn't want to put a damper on the night right away, though, so I let it go this once.

"I am," I said, "Thank you."

Before he could start to walk, I looped an arm through his. He seemed stunned by this simple action; I felt him freeze on the spot for a minute. But he recovered quickly and began to lead the way around a tower to the other side of the roof.

"I thought there would be less a chance of any, ah, _interruptions_ over here," he explained.

I nodded. "Good thinking."

"I thought so."

We rounded the corner, and I gasped.

"Erik!"

He had set up an entire little dining space for us. A small, round table covered in a white linen cloth stood, with two chairs surrounding it, right next to the railing overlooking the river. A beautiful bouquet of red roses sat in a crystal vase, a black satin ribbon tied around it for effect. And, of course, our plates were laid out, overflowing with a gorgeous-looking meal that smelled as wonderful as it looked.

"My word!" I said, looking up at him. "When on earth did you do all of this?"

"Earlier today, " he said. "How does it look?" He seemed genuinely nervous, waiting for my opinion.

"Oh, it looks simply _divine_, Erik, thank you!"

His eyes glinted with satisfaction.

"Well, sit, my dear girl, and eat, else the food will get cold." He unlinked my arm from his so he could pull out my chair. I sat, and waited as he poured me a glass of deep red wine. I looked over everything as he did: a fresh cut of fish sat atop a salad of fresh greens, with a small bowl of steaming soup on the side.

"I do hope you like this," he said, setting my glass down in front of me. "I know you don't particularly enjoy strong wine, so I picked something with a rather muted taste."

I sipped it carefully.

"I do like it!" I assented. "Why, it's delicious!"

"I thought you might this so," he said, sitting across from me. "It goes well with fish, in any case."

I looked down at my plate, my mouth watering. I grinned. It never ceased to amuse me what a good cook Erik was, when he himself rarely ate.

But he had his own plate of food in front of him now. He scooted it closer to the edge of the table in front of him.

"Will you actually be eating tonight?" I joked. "Or is all that just for show?"

He chuckled. "What good is it to have dinner with you, my dear, if it's just _you_ doing the dining?"

I laughed.

"I suppose that would be bad form," I said, picking up a spoon and diving into the soup. "But, Erik, this is really so wonderful! I hope it didn't take you very long?"

"Nonsense," he said. "It's not like I have anything better to do, anyway."

I looked up at him sadly. He nibbled on his salad uninterestedly, unaware of my scrutinizing gaze. It struck me again how very strange this sight was, seeing him across the table from me, eating a salad so delicately. It was exactly as unbelievable as I had pictured it. I swallowed the urge to laugh, though, and asked, "Well, what would you normally do during the day?"

"Ah, yes, let's see," he said. He ticked off on his fingers as he spoke, "I usually attend rehearsals, write a few strongly worded letters to various imbeciles in the management, compose, or…well, prepare for your lessons."

"Oh, Erik, it makes me so sad to think of you cooped up down in those cold cellars all alone."

"I'm quite used to the cold, I assure you."

"That's not what I meant."

He shook his head.

"You needn't worry about me, Christine. I'm not a fan of…er…_other_ _people_, you see."

"What about Monsieur Nadir?"

He scoffed.

"That blithering idiot? I suppose he's good for company sporadically, but on the whole -"

"What if he'd heard you say that!" I gasped.

"Christine, he _does_ hear me say that. I take care to remind him quite often."

"Well, _that's_ not a pleasant way to treat your friends!"

He snorted.

"Friends? I…well…yes, I _suppose_ he is my friend, in a way, but-"

"Do you talk about _me_ like that?" I demanded seriously.

His eyes widened with shock.

"You? I, well, no. Goodness, no…of course not, my dear," he spluttered. "I would never think to -"

"Well, then you shouldn't talk about the Daroga that way, either! It's a wonder he puts up with you at all!"

"Nadir is rather more thick-skinned than most."

"That's no excuse!"

"I…oh, all right. You're absolutely right," he said, sensing the danger in my voice. "I'm sorry if I offended you, my dear. Do forgive me. I'll try to…er…hold my tongue."

I gave him an uncertain glare, not daring to believe he'd keep his promise. But I dropped it, again, for the sake of our dinner.

"Well, in any case," I said, changing the subject. "I'm assuming you were at rehearsals this morning? Did you see how Carlotta threw her shoe at Monsieur Reyer?"

Erik laughed loudly.

"Indeed - what a sight! She nearly took his eye out! I thought I might die from laughing. The idiots."

"Poor Eveline had to go fetch her shoe! It wound up all the way in the eighth row of the theatre!"

Erik was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Had there been a bigger distraction," he said, "I'd have run to fetch it myself. How I longed to hide it in the manager's liquor store cupboard. Imagine the spectacle upon its discovery!"

"Next time, I'll make sure you have ample time for your ghostly antics," I promised, still giggling.

We continued to laugh and joke at the expense of La Carlotta, and soon our conversation turned to the costume choices for our next company production. It felt like a dream, sitting there with Erik, joking like this. We occasionally had time after my lessons to chat, but I always felt intrusive overstaying my welcome in his house.

But it felt natural now, to talk freely as the night wore on. We talked about a range of things, from my singing, to his music, sometimes going back for another joke at the manager's expense. My head began to feel fuzzier and fuzzier as he poured more and more wine in my glass. It felt like no time at all untl our plates were cleared - well, _mine_ was; he didn't quite finish his meal - and the sun began to sink under the horizon, painting the sky a blurry rainbow of dulled pinks and a oranges.

"Oh ho!" he gasped, seeming to remember where we were after a particularly colorful conversation about the first row of flute players. "Of course! Dessert!" He jumped up, procuring a rather large, intricately decorated chocolate cake from a box sitting behind him on the ledge. "Would you care for any?"

I smiled widely. "You know how much I adore chocolate cake!" He nodding, plopping a slice down in front of me. I wasted no time in tasting a sample.

"Oh, goodness, Erik, this is simply _marvelous_. It's so rich!"

He didn't cut any for himself, but sat back down, nodding happily.

"There's plenty more."

"Do you really expect me to eat that entire thing? It's bigger than the chandelier!"

"You may have as much as you like," he said, smiling. I stared at him for a minute, a lulled sense of serenity suddenly washing over me. We stared at each other for a moment. I noticed he had flecks of molten gold in his dark eyes.

Perhaps it was the wine, but I could have sworn I felt myself lean forward, across the table, toward him. I tried to blink away the fuzziness in my head. Was he leaning in, too? My eyes fluttered closed, and I found myself expecting his lips to meet mine…I sighed softly and felt my full stomach doing cartwheels inside of me…

But suddenly, a loud banging sound made us both jump back in surprise. Erik was up in an instant, a dangerous shadow crossing his face.

"What was _that_?" I whispered, running to his side. "Is someone up here?"

It had grown much darker now. Stars twinkled overhead in the blackening sky. I stayed behind him as he stood, listening.

"I'm not sure," he said quietly. "Are you all right?" He looked down at me, worry etched into his face.

"Yes, of course," I said. "But what could that have -?"

"AH HA!" Someone screamed, running toward us. Erik put his arms out protectively, shielding me from whomever it was.

But, wait!

"_Raoul_?" I cried incredulously. Sure enough, it was him. He was running over to us, sweat glistening on his face. His eyes gleamed wildly.

"Christine! I knew it!" he yelled triumphantly. " I knew _he _brought you up here! Come on, I'll take you back, let's go!"

"What on earth are you on about?" I asked, stepping out from behind Erik. "How did you-?"

"Miss Giry saw me in the hall and asked me how our date went! Of course I knew _nothing _about that…"

I felt Erik's eyes on me. I hadn't told him about my lie to Meg.

"…and I just _knew_ that _he_ was behind this!" Raoul continued, jabbing a finger toward Erik.

Anger swelled up in my chest.

"But why on earth did you come up here to find me? What does it matter?"

"It matters because I don't want you hanging around with _him!_" he spat. I realized, through the wall of fury that crashed down on me, that Raoul must have been drunk, as well.

I couldn't have cared less. Angry tears burned in my eyes.

"Raoul, how _dare_ you!" I shrieked. "I'm free to do whatever I like! You can leave us be now!"

"No! You're coming with me! It's getting dark!"

"So what if it's dark? What does that have anything to do with this?"

I saw Raoul's eyes flash to Erik's face. Erik tensed up beside me.

"You think I would _dare_ touch her?" he said icily. Raoul flinched at his words.

"I don't know _what_ you were planning on doing to her!"

"'Doing to me?'" I repeated, dizzy with rage. "_Doing to me! _Raoul, why on earth would you assume something like that! I just so happens we were having a pleasant dinner together before _you_ came along and spoiled it!"

"Dinner!" Raoul hissed. "Dinner, with _him_? Oh, Christine, _puh-lease! _Use your head! Surely you _can't_ be serious!"

Now, looking back, I don't remember grabbing the plate off the table. I truly have no recollection of it whatsoever. I'll never know whether it was the wine acting, or whether it was my anger, or something else. But the next thing I knew, Raoul's face was positively coated with chocolate icing.

And I held an empty platter in my hand.

I heard Erik roar with laughter behind me. I, too, wanted to laugh, but I managed to maintain a furious glare directed right into Raoul's eyes.

He spit up chucks of cake, gasping for air.

"Chri-Christine!" he choked.

"How dare you, Raoul! How _dare_ you!" was all I could manage.

Erik came up behind me, grabbing my shoulders.

"I think," he hissed, "You should leave, boy."

Raoul's face contorted into a mess of disbelief.

"Christine -" he tried.

"_Go," _Erik repeated. There was enough venom in that one word for Raoul to know it was pointless to attempt anything more. He spun around, still wiping frosting off of his face, cursing under his breath.

"Have _fun_!" he spat as he stomped around the corner to go back downstairs. We heard the door slam shut.

I stood for a minute, watching the spot around which he'd disappeared, still in shock.

"Are you quite all right, Christine?" Erik said gently from behind me. I could still make out the suppressed glee in his voice.

"What…what on earth just happened?"

"I believe you just slammed a fresh pastry into the face of the patron of the Opera Populaire," Erik informed me. "He'll be snorting up icing for weeks."

I spun around slowly, horrified.

"Your cake! Erik! I didn't even think…I don't what came over me…"

He held up a hand to stop me.

"My dear girl, I cannot possibly think of a better use for my desserts. I think I burst a kidney from laughing." He smiled wide.

"Oh, gosh," I said, hardly paying attention to him. "Oh, _no_. Raoul is going to be so furious!" I felt my knees begin to tremble.

Erik grabbed my shoulders, steering me back to my chair.

"Christine, you look ill. Are you sure okay?" he said, once I was sitting. "He was obviously drunk, you needn't dwell on it, my dear. Although…maybe he was right."

"Right? About _what_?" I sniffled.

"About this…about this being a bad idea. After all, you are so lovely, my dear. And I am…I am…so…"

I could hardly dare to believe my ears. Once again, he was going to try to proclaim his uselessness to me! I stared at him numbly for a moment as he spluttered on. He seemed unaware of my shocked face, of my mouth hanging agape with disbelief.

"…And grotesque," he was saying. "A deformed, disgusting -"

I couldn't take it anymore. I wouldn't hear another word of it. I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and brought his face right into mine, our lips locking together. I felt him stiffen with shock, but I could hardly care less. I held him to me and kissed him, a few tears streaming down my cheeks.

I nearly forgot what day it was. Where we were. What time it was.

But, too, soon, I drew back, releasing him as I sunk back into the back of my chair.

He was staring at me, wide eyes full of disbelief.

"Stop doing that to yourself," I said. "None of it is true. _None_ of it. You are…you are perfect to me!" I felt my face burning.

He, on the other hand, was stark white, and seemed to be unable to speak.

"Erik? Are you okay?" I asked tentatively. I reached out a hand and placed it on a masked cheek. He wrapped his bony fingers around my wrist.

"I think…" he said hoarsely.

"What?"

He cleared his throat.

"I think it's getting late," he finished lamely.

"Yes. And?"

"I think I should get you back."

I sighed. I could sense he was holding something back.

But he didn't say anything more. He got up hurriedly, clumsily knocking into the table as he did.

"Do you need any help cleaning this up -"

"No, no, please, my dear girl. I will take care of it." He seemed to be determinedly avoiding my eyes.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I meant every word I just said," I told him. "Really, I did."

He looked at me, searching my face for some answer I didn't know the question to.

"I know you did," he said at last. "I just can't understand it."

I shook my head.

"I can't make you see, can I? How very much you mean to me?"

He opened his mouth, changed his mind, and closed it again.

"You mean very much to me, as well, my darling girl."

I smiled, taking his hand. He flinched at my touch.

"Might we do this again, Erik?" I asked. "Very soon?"

"Of course, my dear," he said, squeezing my hand. "If you promise me one thing?"

"What?"

He looked down at me as we started off toward the door.

"Don't shove a cake in _my_ face next."


End file.
